


Sons of Love and Pain

by happydaygirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Badass Athos, Hurt Aramis, Protective Musketeers, Whump, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaygirl/pseuds/happydaygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The killing of a local criminal underworld boss rocks Paris, and leads the Musketeers in a race against time to capture the culprit. Events go from bad to worse as it seems Aramis has more in common with the killer than merely trying to catch him, and it seems he hasn't only put himself in danger as the situation suddenly turns deadly. Lots of Whump and hurt/comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The night air was cool and fragrant with a scent of perfume as a small breeze blew around the bedroom. The silken curtains stirred slightly as moonlight shone through it, casting moonbeams and shadows down onto the two figures curled together on the bed. Goosebumps erupted over their skin as a night of gentle passion slowly turned into morning; the man was circling gentle paths into the cheek of his lover, who smiled demurely up with eyes round and dusky.

He smiled down at her as she curled further into his chest and pressed a tender kiss to his collar bone. 'I really should be going,' he whispered, a tone of sadness in his voice as he rubbed her shoulder with his palm. 'He'll be home soon.'

'He'll probably be late, like last time, remember?' she replied, her voice light but wanting.

He did remember, and fondly too. 'Yes, but I'm afraid we shan't be so lucky this time, my love.'

She smiled at his concern, her smile wide but not unkind. 'My poor sweet Aramis,' she whispered, craning her neck and kissing his temple, before reaching her arms around his neck and pulling him down into an embrace. 'You do worry a lot for such a brave, strong Muesketeer.'

Aramis grinned at that as he kissed her deeply, his hands roving despite his brain insisting he left. For a few minutes there was silence as they embraced, the only sounds being their breathing and moans of pleasure, light as the wind outside.

They broke apart instantly as they heard the front door down the corridor crash open with a bang that could have woken the dead.

'Gabriel?!' a voice, heavy with drink, shouted as someone lurched forwards towards them. Aramis was up in seconds, gathering his belongings and making for the open window, which was thankfully ground level.

Gabriel didn't move- she looked across at him, blew him a kiss and smiled across at him with the smile that had won his heart all those months ago. Her eyes, the colour of sunlight through honey, widened with humour as he waggled his fingers at her with a smile, before he bolted for the window just as her husband burst through. Gabriel's face fell as she saw the state he was in; her nose wrinkled in disgust as he leaned in for a kiss, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol. 'You need to bath,' she protested, before withholding a small cry as he placed a hand on the back of her head and pushed their lips together.

'You need…' he whispered between fetid kisses, '…to watch your tongue.'

As he let go she sank back onto the bed, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. 'You've had a successful night?' she asked as she slid back into her silken sheets, curling her hands into the warm space where Aramis had just been.

'Oh yes,' he replied with a stark laugh. He fisted his hands, which Gabriel could now see were stained with blood. 'Marc and his men won't be bothering us anymore.' He added with a smile, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight. 'We've got control back.'

'What about the Red Guards?' she enquired, voice light. 'I thought they were after you.'

He sneered at that, face contorted in a mix of humour and disgust. 'They know nothing- a bunch of fools and imbeciles.' He turned and faced the window- he breathed the morning air in deeply, its taste sweet on his tongue. 'I trust you had a content night?' he asked, making to close the curtains.

'Oh yes,' she replied, inwardly smiling as her mind cast back to the night before. 'Very content.'

'Good…' he murmured, before stopping short as something caught his eye on the window ledge outside. He leaned forwards, as if to make he was fiddling with the latch to the window- hooking it around his fingers he brought out what appeared to be a white handkerchief; on it was stitched the Insignia of the Musketeer regiment, alongside the single initial 'A'.

His hand, still stained with blood, closed around it, and he squeezed until his knuckles popped and showed white under the skin.

'Everything alright, my love?' Gabriel asked, her voice taking on a note of worry as he hadn't moved.

'Everything is just fine, darling….' He muttered, voice controlled as he turned away, the handkerchief quickly stuffed into his pocket as he advanced on the bed; his face was set in a smile as he came and sat down beside her. He stroked her cheek gently, yet his calloused fingers were nothing against the soft touch of her Musketeer. 'Just fine….' He whispered softly into the air between them.

Xxxxxxx

The City was barely waking up as Aramis made his way to the Garrison, face set in a smile and his heart feeling as if it would burst. The night's events rattled around pleasantly in his head- even though he had not slept he felt as refreshed as a man who had slept a thousand years. Turning the corner into the garrison he was more than surprised to see Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos already up, suited and booted, ready to go.

'Problem?' he asked breezily as he walked to the table and pulled a cup of water towards him.

'You could say that.' Porthos replied, voice unusually taut.

'You best get some breakfast,' d'Artagnan muttered darkly.

'Or maybe not, giving the circumstances,' Athos added with a smirk.

'Oh,' Aramis replied, standing up and ensuring his weapons were fixed onto his belt. 'Like that is it? What's happened?'

'Marc Jones is what's happened.' Athos began.

'What's he done now?' Aramis growled- Marc was a local gang leader, infamous across the lower levels of the city for his skill with blades, his insatiable thirst for gambling, and his dealings with the illegal trade of bootlegged alcohol and goods. The Red Guards had been trying for years to arrest him and his gang, but never had any luck.

'He was found dead in an alleyway last night.' Porthos continued. 'Throat cut, fingers cut off.'

'Ooh.' Aramis hissed, shaking his head. 'Any leads?'

'We're about to go and sniff some out.' d'Artagnan replied, 'but none yet.'

'Well what are we waiting for, then?' Aramis said, before reaching into his pocket to fish out his handkerchief to wipe his face. Upon finding it missing he merely shrugged and used his sleeve instead, before following the other three out as they made their way to the city streets- the underworld of Paris lay ahead of them, as well as any amount of trouble…..


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers travel down to the underworld of Paris, only to be met by hostility and silence- that is, until things take a turn for the worst...

The journey down to the underworld of France always fascinated d'Artagnan because, although he had been living in Paris for a good few months now, the absolute change between the wealthy, colourful streets of the main city and the dark, dank and jaded streets of the ports and alleyways of the criminal hub always interested him. The air here smelt of fish, booze and the sea as they passed shops selling mussels and cheap cuts of meat to children with dirty bare feet and women with babies on their hips and dirt in their hair. 

Men in tattered shirts and frayed trousers looked across at them from their doorsteps and behind their wooden shutters of the shops, eyeing the blue finery and washed garb of the four musketeers as they passed on their way to the crime scene, where Treville had said he would be waiting for them. Porthos, who knew many of these people-not always by name, but by sight at least- hunched into his cloak despite himself; self conscious of himself in an absurd way. Children holding crusts of bread, their cheeks dirty and pale, stopped in their tracks as these men with the shiny boots and silver swords made their way down the cobbles streets.

Aramis tried not to look around; he hated coming round here, mostly because it conflicted so much with his morals and religious beliefs- he knew that no matter how many coins he handed to poor widows and starving children, there would always be more behind them; more innocent people born into the wrong circumstance.   
They turned the corner along the dock and were faced with the sea- a salty breeze caught their noses and ruffled their hair. 'Come on then,' Athos muttered eyes focused as they looked across the road to where Treville was standing with some Red Gaurds and his own men, decked out in blue. 'The Captain's waiting.'  
Treville turned as he heard footfalls coming up behind him- his tired eyes creased into a relived smile as he relaxed his fisted hands; he had spent the last hour desperately trying to stop himself from punching the Captain of the Red Guards in the face and pushing him head first into the dock. He had never known a more inept group of soldiers in his life, and he had lived a long one.   
'Lads,' he nodded to the four Musketeers as they stopped next to him, peering down at the body in between them. As a general rule, Musketeers didn't really get involved with the investigation of a death-not in the sense of attending a body- but given who the corpse had been Treville had asked for special permission from the King to allow them down here.

Porthos wrinkled his nose as he looked down at the body. 'You never mentioned you fished him from the water first.' He muttered to Athos, who shrugged.  
'That's because I didn't know either.' He replied, looking to Treville.  
'Well, technically we found him in an alleyway, like I told you- but yes, I didn't mention that we found him in a crabbing net that had been in the sea for a couple of hours.' Treville muttered, putting a hand in his hips as he stepped back from the body. 'It was found in the corner of the alley on a doorstep.'  
'It was the least he deserved, I'm sure.' Athos replied stoically. He wasn't in the habit of feeling much sympathy for men who allowed and organised the suffering of people just trying to get by the in world. 'Know who did it?'  
'Plenty of suspects,' Aramis muttered, squatting down and taking a closer look at the body. The face was puffy, but the scar that ran from the left eye to the left side of the lip was unmistakably Marc. 'Narrowing it down is going to be the problem.'   
'Aye,' Treville muttered, nodding his agreement. 'That's why I need you to help with enquiries. Go door to door- most people won't talk, but one or two might. We need to know who did this to stop ts from becoming a bigger problem-' he was stopped in speech by a Red Guard who came and muttered in his ear.  
'Problem?' Porthos asked as the Guard stepped back, eyeing the four of them warily.  
'Yeah,' Treville muttered, voice dark. 'They've just found another body on the shore.'   
'Who?' Aramis asked, getting up again with wide eyes. 'One of his gang?'  
'No,' Treville replied, turning to move away, 'Grant Lemarre.'   
'What?' Porthos muttered, momentarily forgetting himself. The others looked at him. 'I knew of him when I lived round these parts.' Lemarre was a kingpin of gambling, dabbling in anything you could bet on; card games, trials and executions, animal fights. He was a well known and unstoppable force in the underworld, especially in the Court, where bets were taken and lost on a minute by minute basis. Well, unstoppable up till now.   
'Go and talk to the people,' Treville muttered as he walked away, eyes dark as he scanned the sea of people swarming around. 'We need answers soon, otherwise we're going to have a war on our hands down here.'

Xxxxx

'How do you know the local crime lords so well?' Aramis asked as they walked down the streets , looking for people who would be happy to speak to them.  
'Trust me,' Porthos replied with a wry smile, 'you get to know people- it's how you stay alive.'

Aramis cocked his head in agreement, before grimacing as someone threw something that definitely did not smell of water over the street in front of them, soaking their boots.  
'Charming,' he muttered as the woman merely gave him a wild, angry look and slammed her door in their faces. He looked across at Porthos as he smirked, 'It took me near on half a day to shine these up so well!' He complained, before they continued on, sidestepping the widening puddle.  
Everyone they met seemed wary and scared- Aramis couldn't blame them at all. Their leaders and protectors were being murdered in front of their eyes, yet no one knew anything. Neighbours were looking suspiciously at each other, wondering if they would be next.

The higher echelons of the city thought of the back streets and the Court of Miracles as lawless, out of control hovels, bereft of order, rules or social standings. This could not have been further from the truth; men of power (such as Marc and Grant, among some others still alive) ruled over the lower people. They allowed the betting to take place, tailored it to their needs of winning every time; when the men and women who had lost all their money finally came crawling back, broken and humbled, they took them in, gave them money once more- but this time for a price. They were now indebted to them for the rest of their lives.   
In the old days these people were branded behind their left ears to show who they 'belonged' to, but now word of mouth did the trick nicely. These people were the ones panicking and scared- who did they now turn to, now their protectors were dead? Who did they owe their allegiance to?

'Maybe they'll talk?' Porthos asked as they stopped by an inn. 'If not at least we can get some ale.'  
'I like the way you think, Porthos.' Aramis smiled as they stepped over the threshold.  
They realised they had made a mistake when the whole room fell silent as they stood in the doorway. Aramis looked around- the room was full of sailors and fishermen, he noted. Women in low cut dresses, their hair tied back, were walking to and fro with trays laden with glasses. 

'We are the King's Musketeers.' He began, deciding to just go for it. 'We are here investigating two deaths in these parts. If any man has information, he should let us know now.' He looked around as no one said a word. Men looked at each other and muttered out of the corners of their mouths, yet none offered a word to the two men standing before them.  
Aramis growled in frustration, but tried to keep himself calm. 'Look, if we don't get information we're just going to have to keep coming back here and badgering you all until we do,' he muttered, eyes scouring the men, 'so really it's in your best interests to speak up.'  
'We don't speak to people like you.' An older man in a weathered leather hat growled, talking behind a lump of tobacco he was chewing.   
'I understand, but we reall-'  
'We have nothing to say.'  
'If you could just-' Aramis growled, before quickly ducking as a clay ale mug was suddenly thrown at his head. 'Now just wait- I could have you arrested-' he stopped quickly as each man stood up at once, eyes fiery.   
'Lets go Mis...' Porthos muttered, acutely aware, as was Aramis, at what implications his words meant.  
'Yeah?' A younger, muscly man with wild brown hair and dark stubble growled, hands around what Aramis presumed was a hidden blade. 'You going to arrest him?'  
'Attacking a Musketeer is an offence.' Aramis replied, not wanting to back down.   
'I see. Well, let me tell you something.' The man muttered, voice laced with danger. 'You arrest him, Musketeer, and you're going to have to arrest all of us.' He turned to the whole room at large, who were silent behind him. 'And there's gonna have to be more than two of you if you want to do that.'  
'Good job there's four of us, then.' Athos' voice cut in as the door swung shut behind him and d'Artagnan. He eyed the other two with a quirked eyebrow. 'Thought we'd find you in here.'  
'We weren't in here to drink.'  
'Of course you weren't.'  
'You wound me, Athos.'  
'Sorry-' Athos muttered in reply, before looking back to the room of men and unsheathing his rapier a little. 'I'm guessing my colleague here asked you about the recent murders?' He asked, eyeing the room. 'Well?'  
'They might've.' The man answered.  
'Did any of you answer?'  
'We've got nothin to say.'  
'I see.' He looked down at the pieces of clay at Aramis' feet. 'Tut tut....' He whispered in his darkest voice. 'Attacking a musketeer? A hangable offence, I'm afraid. And seeing as I don't know who threw it, I'm afraid we're going to have to arrest you all...' He said, withholding a smile at the panicked looks on the men's faces. 'Unless,' he added, clicking the blade firmly back into his holder on his hip. 'You co-operate with our investigation.' The four men looked around as the room began to chatter at once, the room suddenly alight with words.

Xxxx

'Sometimes I marvel at the power you posses over people, Athos.' Aramis grinned as they left the inn half an hour later, armed with information.  
'It was mere mind games.' The other man replied, shrugging. 'You just have to know how to apply it.'   
'Lets get back to the Captain with this information.' Porthos grinned, eyeing the rapidly setting sun. 'I'm starving.' He added.  
'We should have brought horses.' D'Artagnan muttered, his feet aching a little.  
'We learned a long time ago not to bring anything alive bar ourselves to these parts.' Aramis said, his voice laced with a certain sadness. 'My heart has never been the same since Fleur was taken...' He trailed off, shaking his head.

'Oh.' D'Artagnan muttered, looking positively alarmed as Porthos put an arm around his friend's shoulder. 'What happened?'   
'People have to eat, lad,' Athos muttered, sighing. He did feel sorry for Aramis, given she was his steed from his early training.   
They turned the corner that led back up to the main city, only to be confronted by four men in hoods. The Musketeer's hands were straight to their weapons, yet the men were faster. D'Artagnan ducked a blow from one man before delivering one himself, sending him to his knees with a shout.

The others delivered kicks and punches, the musketeers giving as good as they got as they had to defend themselves without time to upholster their weapons. Porthos growled as two men jumped on him with their fists pounding on his body to subdue him, but with very little luck. The fight suddenly took on a different turn, with Aramis taking a kick to the chest that sent him off his feet, and into his back, hard, on the cobbled street- scrambling up to defend his friends he felt rough hands fisting his hair and dragging him upright on his knees. 'What do you want?' He growled, withholding a hiss of pain before a revolver was shoved into his temple.   
He saw the others stop dead as they saw him- he tried to angle his head upwards to see who held him, but all he got was a punch in the stomach before a strong arm latched around his neck, constricting the air.

'Let him go.' Athos growled through a bloodied lip, his arms out in a surrendering motion. 'We have no weapons out- let's talk.' He eyed Aramis with alarm as he struggled for breath. 'Loosen your hold, damn you!' He shouted, fisting his hands.  
Porthos, sporting a black eye, looked around at the men- they all wore black hoods that shaded their faces. 'What do you want?' He asked, voice angry.  
'We want you all to come with us.' The man who held Aramis growled, before nodding his head at so etching behind the three other men.

'Ook...out!' Aramis choked with a garbled breath, eyes wide as three more men appeared behind his friends. They never stood a chance as three brown cloth bags were suddenly shoved over their heads- before they could do anything the butt of a gun was roughly pounded on their temples, their bodies going limp at once.  
'No!' Aramis shouted, but before he could do anything the man holding him squeezed his neck even more- as his world started to darken at the edges he saw his three friends being dragged away, back into the direction of the back streets of Paris. His world went black seconds later, with his head hitting the cobbles with a dull thud.


	3. Chapter 3

Athos woke groggily into semi-darkness, with brick dust clogging his nostrils; he groaned as he wiped his nose, opening his eyes and looking around. The room smelt dusty and old, shrouded in darkness- he coughed, noting the way the noise echoed deeply into the room. They seemed to be underground; probably a cellar, he reasoned. He flexed his hands, wincing as the thick rope bit into the soft flesh of his wrist. Moving his legs he felt that the same had been done to his ankles; he hit something soft and hard a little to his left. ‘Aramis?’ he whispered, peering around as the night crept up on them.  
A deep groan told him that no, it wasn’t Aramis. Porthos moved himself upwards, sniffing and moaning a little in pain. ‘What…?’ he muttered gruffly, looking round, alert at once. ‘What’s going on?’  
‘Not sure yet,’ Athos muttered from his side, looking to his friend as Porthos turned to him with wide eyes. ‘I assume we’re being held captive.’  
‘Really?’ Porthos replied, his voice with an edge to it as he looked around, trying to spot the other two- he squinted into the other side of the cellar, his eyes settling on two shadows, lying slumped by the wall.  
‘Aramis?’ he called, wondering how loud he should raise his voice. ‘D’Artagnan?’  
Athos moved himself forwards, ignoring the pain in his wrists as he tried to edge towards his two friends- seconds later he sat backwards quickly, hands up as a length of rope tightened around his neck. Looking behind him he could see that they- well, he and Porthos, at least- were tethered to the brick wall behind them by large metal clips. He growled deep in his throat, before looking back to the front as they heard a groan that was definitely Aramis.  
‘You alright?’ Porthos asked- the room was quite large, and he could barely see the two figures by the other wall.  
‘I’m….magnificent….’ Aramis replied in a pained voice, before he massaged his head. ‘Never better.’  
‘What about d’Artagnan?’ Athos added, noting that the younger man still hadn’t stirred. ‘Is he ok?’  
‘Hang on…’ Aramis muttered. He moved his hands with a grimace, his wrists erupting in pain as he looked across at the slumped form of the lad. ‘d’Artagnan?’ he whispered, looking him over- he had a bad bruise on his forehead, and he saw that he was still unconscious.  
‘Lad?’ he added, prodding his fingers gently into his side to try and stir him. ‘Wake up now, lad!’  
He pushed his shoulder gently to try and get him to wake up, and his panic subsided a little as the Gascon finally stirred; he groaned deep in his throat, his closed eyes knitted in pain as moved his head. Aramis sat back, closing his eyes in relief.  
‘He’s alright, Athos.’ He reported back into the darkness between them. ‘A bit bruised, but he’ll be fine.’  
Athos nodded to himself, now allowing himself to turn back to the matter at hand. ‘Where are we?’  
‘Dunno,’ Aramis replied. ‘Cellar? Cave?’  
‘Smells like a cellar.’ Porthos muttered.  
‘How do you know what a cellar smells like?’ Aramis asked, voice light.  
‘Never you mind.’ His friend shot back.  
‘Alright, so we’re probably in a cellar.’ Athos said, voice a little sterner. ‘But why are we in a cellar?’ he sighed, looking for any discernable marks or something. ‘Who were those men?’  
‘Never seen them before,’ Aramis muttered, massaging his neck as he felt bruises bloom there from the chokehold he had been subjected to. ‘Porthos?’  
‘What?’  
‘Did you know them?’  
‘Oh, so just because I lived here before, I must automatically know everyone round here, do I?’  
‘A simple no would have sufficed, my friend.’  
‘Can you two just be serious for one second?’ Athos growled, before they all stopped and listened as they heard heavy footfalls above them. ‘Just let me do the talking.’ He added, before the door creaked open, throwing orange light into the room. Athos looked round properly for the first time- Aramis and d’Artagnan were also tethered at the necks, and he felt a thrill of anger as he saw Aramis had bruising all around his neck, as well as dried blood caking from a wound to his head. The younger lad was still lying on the ground, so he couldn’t see him as well.  
He looked back up at the trio of men who had now come into the room- each had a candle in their hands, as well as a blade in there other.  
‘What do you want?’ he asked, eyes dark. ‘Why have you done this?’  
‘Shut up,’ one of the men growled, shoving the candle near his face as he peered into it, as if scrutinising. ‘It can’t be this one.’ He muttered, before standing back up.  
‘Check the others.’ The man beside him grunted, before they moved across to Porthos.  
‘Tell me what you want!’ Athos growled as darkness once more shrouded him as the light of the candles moved away. ‘We are Musketeers- our Captain knows we are missing!’ he added, hoping to scare them a little.  
‘If I have to tell you to shut up-‘ the man from before threatened as he came forwards again, brandishing his knife. ‘one more time- you’re going to regret it!’  
Porthos poised himself as the men came near, but almost as soon as they did a knife was pressed to his throat. ‘Don’t get any ideas, biggun!’ One of the smaller men growled, before the other two once again peered at him. ‘No, not him- can’t be.’  
‘You better have got this right!’ the man who had threatened Athos warned, eyes dark as he turned to the other man. ‘He won’t be happy if we’ve got this wrong!’  
‘Relax,’ the man placated as he looked across at Aramis and the slumped d’Artagnan. ‘It’s got to be one of them.’  
Aramis sat up against the cold wall as the men came near, before looking down to d’Artagnan, who was just beginning to stir by his feet. He reached over and grasped his shoulder, gently pulling the lad upwards, little by little, before he was lying next to him, his eyes finally staying open as the men got to their sides. He wanted to make sure he was near enough to protect him, should the worst happen.  
He stayed silent as the men looked them both over. ‘Hmm…’ the man muttered, a hint of panic in his voice. ‘It could be either of them.’  
‘Only one way to find out…’ the man snapped, before kicking the sole of Aramis’ boot. ‘What’s your name?’  
Aramis stayed silent, his eyes boring into the other man’s. ‘I said-‘the man growled, kicking his boot harder. ‘What’s your name?!’  
‘Why should I tell you?’ Aramis growled, feeling anger in his stomach.  
‘You should answer me, if you know what’s good for you!’  
‘Really?’ Aramis scoffed. ‘I don’t think so.’  
‘Hear him? He says he doesn’t think he should tell us!’ the man jeered to his two friends. ‘Well, perhaps your friend will be more forthcoming…’ Aramis looked down at D’artagnan, who was now fully awake and beginning to sit up slowly.  
‘Touch one hair on his head and you’ll wish you’d never been born.’ Aramis growled, fingers curling around d’Artagnan’s shoulder, into the material of his coat.  
‘Really?’ the man grinned, voice dark as he leaned in. ‘I don’t think so.’ He added, before taking out his knife and, in one motion, cutting the thick length of rope that had bound the younger man to the wall.  
‘I mean it!’ Aramis yelled, growling as his fingers were ripped from the Gascon’s coat. ‘Leave him be!’ He didn’t dare use his name, given how for some reason their names were somewhat important to these men. ‘Touch him and you’ll regret it!’  
‘Tell us your name then!’  
‘Why do you want to know?’ he replied, eyes widening as d’Aartagnan was roughly pushed to the ground- seconds later he heard a muffled groan as he was kicked in the stomach.  
‘Leave him!’ he shouted, his voice now joined by Athos and Porthos as the three men continued to pummel the younger man with their feet.  
‘Tell us what we want to know, and we will!’ the man shouted, before the door banged open once more. They all fell silent as a large figure stood in the doorway.  
‘What are you doing?’ the figure asked, voice barely more than a whisper as he stepped into the room.  
‘We were trying to get this one to tell us his name and-‘  
‘Pick this man up and tie him up again.’  
‘But-‘  
‘You dare question me?’  
‘No, sir.’ The men shook their heads, before dragging a coughing d’Aartagnan back to Aramis, who gently positioned him next to him, eyes full of concern as the younger man got into a better position to defend himself. He looked up as the man came into better view- He was large and muscly, with wavy black hair and dark eyes- he didn’t know him at all. He had a scar on his cheek, like someone had tried to make a drawing on his cheek. There was no recognition there, though- it infuriated him.  
‘So,’ the man said, an air of authority to his voice that made the hairs on the back of Aramis’ neck stand on end- his fingers laced around d’Artagnan’s sleeve once more as the man knelt in front of them both. Athos was speaking, demanding to know what was going on, but the man ignored him in favour of looking intently at Aramis, a light smile on his face. ‘Remember me?’  
‘I’ve never seen you before.’ Aramis growled, a challenge to his voice. ‘And I never forget a face.’  
The man chuckled, nodding his head a little. ‘Me neither.’ He replied, his voice dark as he stood back up. ‘I would have thought you’d know me- what about you, Porthos?’ he said, turning to the bigger man.  
Aramis’ eyes snapped round to look at his friend- Porthos squinted in the poor light, before they widened as recognition stirred. ‘Allard?’ he growled, now straining against his bonds. ‘Allard Laurent?’  
‘Very good- it has been many years since we last saw each other, down here in the Court.’ Allard smiled.  
‘Thought you’d been killed years ago.’  
‘Wishful thinking, I’m sure- but alas, I am alive and well. I’ve been keeping a low profile, biding my time.’  
‘Until when?’ Athos growled- he didn’t recognise this man, either, but by the way Porthos had reacted, he knew it couldn’t be good.  
‘Well, now.’ Allard grinned. ‘This city needs me- my work has already begun to clean up the scum that lays upon it.’  
Aramis looked around, confusion saturating him, but before he could speak Allard was already onto a new sentence. ‘But that is not why I’m here. I am here to clean up some business of my own.’ He turned to the room at large. ‘One of you must pay for a crime you’ve committed against me.’  
‘We’ve never even seen you before!’ d’Artagnan muttered. ‘How could we commit a crime against you?’  
‘I’m glad you asked.’ Allard smiled. He turned to one of the men- ‘Bring her in.’  
They all turned as one of them sauntered from the room, slamming the door behind them.  
Allard paced the room slowly, looking from each man to the other. ‘When I left the Court, it was a harmonious place.’ He started, his voice low. ‘Poverty struck, chaotic and unruly- but Harmonious. Everyone knew their place. Everyone got along….’ He stopped to sigh dramatically. ‘But now- there is no order. No rules. Everyone sings to a different hymn book, drinks from a different stream. Everyone has a faction, a leader. This isn’t how it was supposed to be!’  
‘It’s the way its always been!’ Porthos growled. He and Allard had known each other from when they were children, but Allard had moved from the Court when he’d turned sixteen and he’d never seen or heard from him again.  
‘We should be united under one leader!’ Allard snapped back, eyes dark. ‘Someone who knows what they’re doing, someone with strong leadership skills.’  
‘And I bet you’re going to say “someone like me”, aren’t you?’ Athos sighed. ‘We’ve heard it all before.’  
‘Perhaps you have.’ Allard shrugged, now starting to pace. ‘But this is for another moment- I have business with you men.’ He looked at each of them in turn, yet frustratingly offered nothing more.  
‘What’s this about?’ Athos muttered, panic rising in his chest, as well as anger at being in this situation with no sort of explanation. ‘I demand you tell us!’  
Allard chuckled darkly, pulling something from the breast pocket of his jacket. He unravelled it and let the material hang loose from his fingers. Aramis recognised it at once, his heart almost stopping.  
‘What’s that?’ Porthos asked, voice confused.  
‘I was hoping one of your friends would tell me.’ Allard muttered conversationally, eyebrows raised. His voice darkened as he looked around. ‘You-‘ he pointed at D’artagnan. ‘Name.’  
The younger man said nothing, deciding to follow Aramis’ lead.  
‘Alright-‘ Allard said, before taking a pistol from inside his coat and pointing it at Athos. ‘Name?’  
‘Wait, don’t shoot!’ the younger man said, eyes wide. ‘D’artgnan.’ He growled, relief surging as the gun was lowered.  
‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Allard muttered, before looking across to Porthos. ‘I have no quarrel with you.’ He added, before looking to Aramis.  
‘You- name.’  
Aramis knew why he was asking, and he felt bile rise to his throat as he opened his mouth. ‘Aramis.’ He muttered, before his heart sank as he realised who still had to answer his name…  
‘Wait, I-‘ he started, but Allard soon had his gun trained on him.  
‘Now, you-‘ he growled, turning to Athos. ‘What’s your name?’  
‘What’s this about?’ Athos spat, struggling in his restraints.  
‘Tell me your name or he dies!’  
‘It’s Athos!’ the man spat, shaking his head. ‘Happy now?’  
Allard stood back, a small smile on his face. ‘Not really.’ He growled, fingers laced on the handkerchief with the embroidered gold ‘A’ on show.  
‘Well…’ he said, his voice dark and barely more than a whisper as he looked from Aramis to Athos. ‘It looks like we might have a little problem, gentlemen.’ He stepped closer to Aramis, gun still aimed at his head as he knelt down. ‘But don’t worry,’ he whispered, looking intently at him for a few seconds before standing up and turning to Athos.  
‘I’m sure I’ll figure out a solution…’


	4. Chapter 4

The room was silent for a few minutes as the four men tried to process what Allard meant by that last comment. 'I don't understand.' Athos finally said, eyes creased in a frown. 'What the hell are you talking about?' He suddenly realised that the tone in the room had changed, and it had something to do with Allard knowing his and Aramis' names. The man ignored him and began to pace again, his face set in an angry expression. Athos looked across to Aramis- his stomach lurched a little as he saw that his friend couldn't look him in the eyes, and his face was as pale as fresh fallen snow.

'You think you have everything in order...' Allard was speaking, his voice brash in the cold silence of the room. D'Artagnan, a hand to his ribs, opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by Aramis, who put a hand on his shoulder. 'The betrayal...' Allard added, now absurdly wringing his hands.

'Whats wrong?' Athos tried again, but once again he was ignored. He looked across to Porthos, hoping that his old acquaintance could get him to talk. The bigger man swallowed, but turned his head to the man pacing the room.

'Allard- tell us what's wrong, we might be able to help.'

Allard laughed at that, the sound grating; Aramis felt his stomach drop deeper into his body.

'I don't think you can help with this one.' Allard replied, his eyes flicking to Athos, as if studying him again, before turning to Aramis and doing the same.

'We can do this the easy way, gentlemen,' he said, voice forced with lightness, before it hardened again, 'or we can do it the hard way.'

Aramis didn't know what to do- he had always been careful. He knew what this man was capable of. He always knew the risks he took... how pathetically stupid of him to get caught by a bloody handkerchief of all things... He knew he couldn't let Athos take the fall. He opened his mouth, damning the consequences, but the door suddenly banged open, and the men were back.

His eyes widened and he had to hold back a cry as he saw the smaller figure being dragged behind them.

'Ah, there you are darling.' Allard muttered, voice laced with a venom, like thick, honied poison. The woman, her eyes wide, surveyed the room, panting a little with exertion as she tried to free herself from the strong grips of the men on either side of her. 'Not to worry, my love- I just have a couple of questions for you.' He added, cupping his hand around the back of her head, letting her hair feather in his fingers.

Gabrielle tried to pull back from her husband, but he was too strong. She looked across to the men, her eyes finally falling on Aramis. The musketeer's own eyes filled with tears as he saw her face was tear stained, a bruise blooming across her left eye, and a mark on her bottom lip. He tried to make his eyes speak for him, to let her know he was going to get her out of here, that this was all his fault...but she turned away before he could offer anything.

'What the hell is going on?!' Athos growled, now getting annoyed not knowing anything about what was happening. 'Speak plainly, damn you!'

'Who does this belong to?' Allard spoke, voice soft but deadly as the embroidered handkerchief was once again dangled from his fingers. Athos took a good look at it, really studying it for a good few seconds. Suddenly, inexplicably, and with a burgeoning mix of anger, shock and clarity, he understood it all perfectly. Oh, Aramis...

'I had all my life all in order.' Allard spoke to the room at large, not just to the musketeers, but also to his wife, who balked a little at his words. Everything planned. Mapped out. Accounted for.' He looked across to Athos, and then to Aramis. 'And then I come home from sorting out the last few...problems, that stood between myself and total power to find-' he cut himself off, as if composing himself. Allard, Athos now realised, was behind the killings of the gang leaders. That mission was now pushed to the back of his head. He had more important matters to think about.

'To find my wife was...consorting with others.' His eyes flashed dangerously at Gabrielle, who was still to utter a word. 'But my love for you runs deep, my darling.' He added, voice soft but hard. 'You have learned the error of your ways, I am sure.' He finished, before turning away from his wife without another word.

'But the same cannot be said for the man who did the consorting.' His voice was dripping once more as he looked across to the men in the room. 'Betrayal is something I have found hard to handle. Direct insult to me is harder to accept, still.'

Aramis felt his world implode in on itself- the sick feeling was threatening to become reality, but as he once again opened his mouth to confess, to save Athos from whatever was coming, Allard was speaking again.

'So..' He said, motioning to his friends to come closer. 'Untie the other two and let them go-' he muttered, turning to Porthos and d'Artagnan. '-I have no issue with them.'

'We're staying right here!' Porthos spat, dawning comprehension coming upon him also.

'Fine.' Allard growled, before taking two strips of cloth from his pocket. 'Gag them- we don't want anything...interrupting us.'

'If you come near me with that I'll rip your head off!' Porthos threw out, now struggling in his binds. Aramis would need him soon, he wagered, and being pinioned to a wall wasn't going to help.

'Maybe this will change your mind?' Allard muttered, before taking out his revolver and pressing it to Aramis' temple. 'I have no issue with you- but annoy me anymore and I will have now issue with killing you.' He growled, clicking the safety off the gun. Aramis closed his eyes at the cool touch, a faint emotion in him telling him that this was no less than he deserved for putting his friends through this.

'Alright, don't shoot!' Porthos spat, before allowing the gag to be tied around his mouth. D'Artagnan allowed the same to happen, his brown eyes boring into Aramis' as he too understood what was happening, and the mess their friend had got them into.

'Good choice.' Allard praised, before motioning Aramis and Athos. 'So.' He began, before coming up beside Gabrielle and putting a strong hand on her shoulder. 'You have a chance to make this right, my sweet.' She looked at him with wide eyes.

'Allard..' She began, but the hand tightened around the soft flesh of her shoulder and she fell silent.

'I have tried to be kind to you, haven't I?'

'Y-yes.'

'And you would never hurt me on purpose?'

'Never.'

'One of these men corrupted you- you, my sweet angel, have nothing to fear from me.' Allard sighed dangerously before continuing. 'But the man responsible...they have much to fear.'

'Allard, please...' Gabrielle cried, a tear streaking her pale face. Aramis bit back a similar emotion, but he couldn't speak without first guaranteeing her safety. He cared not for himself, never had done in times like this.

'Point him out- he is here in this room. Just point to him and you can go home.'

'Allard-'

'Point. Him. Out.' Allard whispered into her hair, making the woman shudder. 'I won't ask again.'

'I won't do it.' She finally said after a few heavy seconds of silence. Aramis almost stopped breathing.

'You...won't do it?' Allard repeated, eyes flashing. His grip tightened again, but he reigned himself in as his wife cried out in pain. He released her, pushing her away so she stumbled. 'I promised you no harm, my darling, and I will stick to that promise.' He turned to his men, who stepped forwards. 'Take her away.'

'Allard, please!'

'Go!' He yelled, turning away as his wife was grabbed. 'Wait-' he added, before stepping closer to Aramis. 'Maybe this will change your mind.' He added, before launching his arm back and punching Aramis in the face, smiling as he cried out and fell to the floor.

Gabrielle stifled a cry, but said nothing- to do so would condemn her musketeer. Athos, who had not been gagged, cried out in shock and anger as punches rained down on his friend- Aramis was a womaniser, yes, a lothario, a ladies man; it was an endearing yet frustrating part of his personality that everyone had learned to accept...but he didn't deserve this. 'Leave him alone!' He yelled, but it was as if Allard was in a trance. Aramis gasped out through a bloodied lip, his hands up in surrender as Allard still pummelled him. 'Please!' He cried out.

'Admit it!' Allard yelled, eyes fiery, before he turned to Gabrielle, who had tears now falling unchecked onto her cheeks, 'was it him!?' He screeched, a madness in his voice now. 'Tell me!'

Porthos growled out behind his gag, but as he strained against his bonds, intent on snapping the ropes that held him in place, one of the men aimed his gun in his face. 'Stay put, big'un.' He warned.

'Please...' Aramis garbled out again, blood dripping from a cut to his eye, his jaw already beginning to swell. 'Let me...explain...'

'Explain what?' These were the words Allard had been searching for. He grabbed him by his coat pulled Aramis closer to him, eyes flashing dangerously as Aramis tried to stop his head from lolling to one side as Allard brought his face close to his. 'Explain what?' He said again, mouth curling in fury.

'Wait!' Athos suddenly shouted out, his eyes wide in panic as Allard and Aramis both turned to him. 'I know you are being honourable, Aramis, doing this for me, but there is no need-' he turned to Allard, taking a deep breath as he did so. He couldn't let Aramis do this- he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he let his friend suffer for this...

'It was me.' He said finally, loud enough for everyone to hear. 'That handkerchief is mine.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, next chapter up soon!  
> Please comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed it so far! Please comment!


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